


Still After All These Years

by hapakitsune



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Children, Divorce, Future Fic, M/M, Oblivious, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Jordan a long time to catch on to what everyone else thinks is obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still After All These Years

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place about like fifteen years from now and is possibly a little over optimistic about the Oilers' Cup chances in the next few years but shhh fiction. This fic deals with the aftermath of a divorce. There are also references to a past accidental injury to a child. If you would like more details, let me know. 
> 
> Thanks to the Dynamic Duo of opusculasedfera and mistfarer for their help with this and to all the poor people I bothered about this while I was writing it.

Jordan is sitting in the parking lot of the twins' elementary school, along with every other neurotic parent who needs to pick their children up immediately after class rather than waiting until the crowd dies down, when he suddenly realizes that he hasn't told Taylor yet. 

He has to actually think back, search his memory to see if he's forgetting a phone call, maybe, or a text – but there hasn't been very many of those in the last ten years, and even fewer of them since Taylor was traded five years ago. Jordan honestly isn't sure that Taylor will care to know, but he kind of feels like he should tell him anyway. Taylor was the first person Jordan told when they found out Catie was pregnant, and then he was the first person Jordan called when she said yes, and he was the best man at their wedding, too. He should know. 

They told Sam, of course, and Nail and Ryan, and both their families and the parents of the twins' friends since it might come up, and some of their friends. Maybe it's just that they only see Taylor on the twins' birthday, when he comes to give each of them a hug and a present, hockey-related usually. Still, it's weird that Jordan hadn't thought of it. Taylor was his best friend for nearly ten years. 

Bran knocks on the window, startling Jordan, and calls, "Dad, can you let us in?" through the glass. 

"Sorry," Jordan says, and he unlocks the doors so Bran and Annie can get in. Bran's trumpet case clips him on the back of the head. He hisses, leaning forward so Annie can get in without braining him with her backpack. 

"Sorry, Dad," Bran says breathlessly, flinging himself into his seat. Annie snorts. Her hair has come out of the braid that Jordan tried to do for her this morning and is haloed around her head in a wild mass of brown curls. 

"Who wants to be dropped off first?" Jordan asks, starting the car. 

"Me," Annie says immediately. 

"Hey!" Bran tries to poke her in the side, and she smacks him away. 

"Annie," Jordan warns. 

"Sorry. But I need to change for practice and that takes _way_ longer than putting together a trumpet."

"Okay, the rink first, then," Jordan says. He nearly rear-ends a minivan and has to bite back a curse. He's never done the afterschool pick-up before; the morning drop-off isn't nearly as insanely chaotic. Catie had warned him before she left on her trip to Chicago. He should have listened. "That's okay, Bran?"

"Whatever." Bran sinks down a little in his seat. Jordan sighs and focuses on making it out of the parking lot alive. 

Annie had taken the news stoically, as she did most things these days. Bran had asked a million questions – where were they going to live, would they have to move, did either of them have a new boyfriend or girlfriend? After that, he'd shut himself in his room and played trumpet loudly until Catie's patience broke and she stomped up to tell him to please put his practice mute in, for the love of God. 

Every time Jordan has tried to bring it up with him, Bran has shaken his head and changed the subject. After a while he just decided not to ask anymore. Sam had assured him that Bran would come to him when he was ready. Not that Sam would know, since as far as Jordan can tell he has a sickeningly perfect family life. Bran has always been the sensitive one, and Jordan worries about him. He isn't sure if Bran completely understands why they're separating. 

To be honest, Jordan doesn't completely understand how they fell apart either, but he knows it's the right thing to do. When they sat down and finally agreed to call it, an enormous weight lifted off his shoulders and he nodded, eyes stinging. 

"I'm sorry," he told her, knowing it was partially on him for shutting himself off from her, for leaving her to raise the kids alone for so many years. He wished they could love each other with the same passion they'd had when they were first married, when everything was new and perfect.

"I'm sorry, too," she said, and then she started to cry, and he drew her into his arms for one last time.

After that, she had moved out, taken a promotion at the publishing company, and started working longer hours. Whenever he talks to her, she seems happy about it, and just as happy to take the kids when Jordan is busy with work for the Oil Kings. He thinks she might be thinking about dating again. 

He's happy for her, really. Jordan knows he was something of a disappointment of a husband. For the majority of their marriage, he was always away with the Oilers, always at practice, always working. He tried to be home when he could to help her with the twins, but she had put aside her career for him and their family. As soon as he retired, she wanted to resume her career full-time. He couldn't blame her for that, nor could he blame her for their mutual realization that they were no longer compatible in the ways they used to be. Whatever ease they had found when they were both working, when he was gone more often than not, had evaporated and left them as mere acquaintances who shared a surname. 

Still, he misses having someone to come home to.

Annie takes off as soon as he pulls up outside the rink, lugging her hockey bag behind her, and shouts, "Two hours, Dad!" He waves and waits until he sees the doors close behind her to drive to the music studio where Bran has his trumpet lessons. 

Bran gets out, more sedately than his sister had, and says, "You'll wait?"

"Yeah, buddy," Jordan says. "I'll be here."

"Okay." Bran smiles briefly – he looks just like his mother when he does that, Jordan thinks – and heads inside, trumpet banging against his knee. 

Jordan settles back to wait, turning the radio from the alt-rock station the kids love to TSN 1260. They're talking about the Oilers, and out of habit, Jordan turns it up in time to hear them talk about Nail's hat trick from a few days ago. 

"He may be thirty-four, but he's still got some of that first-overall skill hidden up his sleeve," one of the hosts is saying. "Sometimes I swear you can still see that kid who pulled a Theo Fleury in that game against LA, you remember that?"

"Remember that? How could I forget? They play that clip every preshow! That and Jordan Eberle jumping on Taylor Hall after the Cup win in '18." 

"Right after Gretzky lifting the Cup."

Jordan closes his eyes and for a moment he's back there, shouting, "Hallsy!" as he flings himself across the ice towards Taylor, still staring at the goal like he can't believe the puck managed to eel its way past Bobrovsky. Taylor jerks around when Jordan gets an arm around his shoulder, and then he's grinning too, eyes bright, and he seizes Jordan in a hug so tight it crushes the breath from him. 

"Fucking shit, we _did it_ ," gasps Taylor in his ear, sounding on the verge of tears. "Ebby, fuck, _Ebby_ –"

And Sam is shouting, "Hallsy, you beaut!" and Nail is screaming incomprehensibly in Russian while someone laughs hysterically and then they're falling to the ice under the weight of Schultzy and Nuge and Darnell, and Jordan's face is pressed uncomfortably into the side of Taylor's sweaty neck, but he doesn't care, he doesn't care at all. 

Jordan opens his eyes and stares at the radio dial. They won again four years after that, but he still remembers the amazement of knowing that they'd finally overcome all the problems that had plagued them for years. The radio announcers have switched to talking about the Raptors, and he doesn't care all that much about basketball, so he switches it off and picks his phone out of the cup holder. He flicks through his contacts until he finds Taylor, under _Cheds_ , and sits there with his thumb hovering over the number. 

When was the last time he really _talked_ to Taylor? Had it been the twins' birthday back in March? That was more than ten months ago, and all they had talked about was Bran giving up hockey for good. Taylor had hastily returned the new stick he'd bought in favor of the practice mute that they were all very thankful for now, and had signed Brandon's cast in extra big letters in case anyone wanted proof that his godfather really was _The_ Taylor Hall. 

Jordan sighs and presses _call_. He wonders for a moment if maybe he should have checked to see where the Blues were today, but Taylor picks up on the third ring, so it's moot. 

"Hey, Hallsy," Jordan says, as lightly as he can. "It's Jordan."

"Yeah, I know," Taylor says. He sounds distracted. "What's up? Is something wrong with the kids?"

"No, nothing like that. Uh –" Jordan hesitates. "Hey, when's the next time you guys are going to be up in my area? Let's grab a drink."

"We'll be there next week," says Taylor. "What about you, don't you have scouting stuff?" 

"Just around Alberta for the next month," said Jordan. "So you're up for grabbing a drink? Maybe come over for dinner first, see the kids?"

There is a long pause, and Jordan forces himself not to fill it. He's gotten used to filling up the silences at family dinners, usually after Annie rambles about how great hockey is going or after Catie comes up in conversation. But he wants to hear what Taylor has to say without his input. 

"Okay," Taylor says finally. "I'll call you when we get in."

"Sounds good," Jordan says. "See you."

Jordan mentions that Uncle Taylor might be visiting them for dinner in a couple weeks and the kids both cheer. Taylor has always gotten along well with the kids, Bran especially. 

It's funny, how things work out. Jordan hadn't been planning for kids when Catie told him, six weeks after the first Cup, that she was pregnant, but he didn't hesitate to embrace it. Annalise was born first, Brandon was second; they kind of thought they'd have a Casey or a Carson, maybe even a Devon or a David. But once the twins were old enough that they could think about having another kid, they were so wrung out that they had nothing left, though they had given it a good go after the second Cup. Jordan doesn't have favorites, but he always felt like he could relate a little better to Annie, who looks more like him than Catie and reminds him of himself as a kid. Bran has always been a little mysterious to Jordan, and these days he feels worse about it than he did when Bran was little. He hadn't been thinking about it when he made the call, but maybe it'll be good for Bran to have Taylor around.

Once they're home, he texts Taylor, _better not back out a & b are looking forward to it now_

 _yeah_ , Taylor sends back, which isn't really an answer. 

He mentions it to Nail in a text, off-handed, and Nail immediately sends back a string of emoticons that haven't grown anymore comprehensible over the years. He follows it up with, _bring him for dinner!!!!!_

So when the Blues come to town, Jordan bundles his kids in the car and drives to Nail's huge, ridiculous house in the Edmonton suburbs where he lives with his gorgeous, incredibly sweet wife Zohra and their army of children. Their oldest, Ksenia, shrieks in delight when she sees Annie and nearly knocks them both to the ground in an enthusiastic hug. Bran scoots back, making a face. 

Taylor is already in the living room with Zohra and Nail, the two youngest boys crawling on his lap while he drinks a glass of wine. He looks slightly uncomfortable with his huge hand wrapped around the stem, and Jordan wonders if he felt bad because they definitely only bought the wine for Jordan and Taylor. Alex, three years old and nearly identical to his father with his huge smile and dark eyes, grins up at Jordan and yells, "Uncle Jordan!"

All the Yakupovs look up and start talking loudly over each other in a cacophonous mixture of English and Russian until Zohra whistles, piercing and sharp, and they all fall silent. 

"Hello, Jordan," she says, getting to her feet to take his coat. "Bran, how's school?" 

Bran mutters, "Fine," before flopping down on the couch next to Taylor. Jordan accepts the glass of wine Nail pours for him and takes one of the armchairs as the littlest Yakupov, sixteen months old and toddling around like a pro, tries to climb up the armrest. 

"Hey there, Tali," says Jordan, scooping her up into his lap. She stares up at him, eyes wide, and then smiles. "You remember me?"

"Oh, sure," says Nail. "She's only a baby, but she remember fine." He smirks and ruffles the head of his oldest boy, Emil, who is staring down at his PSP and ignoring all of them as best he can while his siblings chatter. 

"Hey," Taylor says, and Jordan finally looks at him. He looks good, probably better than Jordan looks these days. There's a healing cut on his right temple, and a bruise just barely visible on his collar beneath his shirt, but he's fit and still strong even at, god, thirty-six. Jordan envies that; he kind of always imagined he and Taylor would end up where Nail is, serving as the mentor to the new kids. Instead, Taylor got shipped out five trade deadlines ago, after their second Cup run took a sharp toll on their roster, and Jordan is retired, living the good life. Or something.

"Long time," Jordan says. He swallows a sip of wine, and forces his lips up in a smile. "How have you been?"

"Blues are doing well, so not bad," says Taylor. "Where's Catie?"

Nail looks at Jordan, eyebrows raised. Zohra, coming back into the room with the girls in tow, clears her throat and sits down cross-legged on the floor. Bran shrinks in on himself, tucking his chin into his chest, and Annie goes very quiet. 

"What?" Taylor looks around. "What is it?"

"That's – that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Jordan carefully takes Tali off him and sets her back on the ground. "Let's go talk – I guess not outside, eh?"

"You can use my office," Zohra says. "Next to the guest room."

Taylor has to disentangle himself from the kids before he can follow Jordan. Zohra's office is well-insulated from the noise, and when the door shuts behind them, they're suddenly alone for the first time in years. 

"So," Jordan says quietly, hand curled around his wine glass. "I should have told you when it happened."

Taylor doesn't speak, just watches Jordan carefully. Jordan puts down the glass when he realizes he's gripping it so hard his knuckles are going white, and he says, "We're getting divorced."

Taylor stares at him, then takes a long drink of wine. "Christ, Ebby," he says when he lowers it. His voice is rough. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Jordan looks down at his own glass. "It's been okay, actually. I'm just worried –"

"Bran." Taylor nods. "Yeah."

They look at each other, and Jordan finds himself smiling. "I've really missed you," he says. 

Taylor smiles back, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. You too."

They rejoin the Yakupovs in time for Zorah to tell them dinner is ready, and they crowd around the giant dining room table to eat heaps of delicious vegetarian curries and rice. Nail disappears for a few minutes and reappears with a giant bowl of KD, which he places in front of Taylor with a smug smile. 

"Oh, f – screw you," says Taylor. He takes a healthy spoonful for his own plate anyway. 

The kids start dropping while Nail and Taylor are still bickering about whose team is better while Jordan firmly maintains that he's Switzerland. Zorah takes the youngest ones to bed while Annie talks to Emil about school. Bran trails his fork through the remnants of curry on his plate, only looking up when Taylor breaks off to rest his hand on Bran's back and speak to him quietly. Jordan bites his lip when Bran smiles, and wishes he could ask what they're talking about without coming off as crazy. Catie has told him he's trying too hard with Bran, but he worries about him all the time these days. He still wakes up in the dead of night when they're with Catie convinced his phone is ringing with bad news. 

"Hey," Jordan says when the conversation lulls. "Bran, Annie – you okay staying here tonight?"

"Yes, please!" says Ksenia, who worships the ground Annie walks on. "Please, Daddy –"

"I already tell Jordan they can stay, shh," Nail says, reaching over to cover her mouth with his hand. 

"Yeah, okay," says Bran after exchanging looks with his sister. 

Jordan smiles and glances at Taylor. "Want to –"

"Okay." Taylor gets to his feet. "Thanks for dinner, Zohra." He kisses her cheek and punches Nail in the shoulder. "Try not to trip over your own feet tomorrow, kid."

"Don't break a hip, old man," Nail tosses back, grinning, and Jordan shakes his head in amusement as he goes to give his kids hugs and kisses before he leaves. 

"Do you care where we go?" Jordan asks once they're in the car. Taylor shakes his head. 

"Just somewhere we won't get recognized."

That rules out a lot of places in Edmonton, even if neither of them have played for the Oilers in a couple years. Jordan does know a couple places though, and he picks the hotel where all the Americans seem to stay because it's loud enough that they won't be overheard. 

They take a back table and order beers, sharing a look when the waiter asks them if they'd like to see the wine menu. Jordan drinks half his beer before he wipes the back of his mouth and says, "So how have you been?"

"It's okay," Taylor says. "There are some good kids on the team –"

"Fuck, Hallsy, I'm not a reporter," Jordan snaps, losing his patience. "I'm actually asking."

"Well, that's fucking new," Taylor retorts, and they stare at each other for a long moment. Jordan can't read his expression, and he _hates_ that, it's absurd that he can't read Taylor of all people. 

Finally Taylor sighs and mutters, "Sorry."

"It's my fault," Jordan says. "I haven't been very good at keeping in touch."

"I don't blame you," Taylor says. 

"What?" 

"I mean –" Taylor frowns. "You wanted to?"

"Of course I wanted to, you're – you _were_ my best friend." Jordan shakes his head. "I never thought I'd be the guy that got married and left behind his friends, you know?"

"You didn't leave behind anyone else," says Taylor. 

"Well, you could have called every once in a while too."

"I didn't think –" A businessman bumps against Taylor's chair, and Taylor visibly bites back a curse. "Whatever. So – you and Catie."

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"You called me here to tell me about it."

"Because I thought you should know." Jordan draws a smiley face in the condensation on his pint glass. "It's really not a big deal."

"You were married for ten years," points out Taylor. "It's kind of a big deal."

"Maybe it should have been, but it isn't." Jordan kicks Taylor lightly. "What about you? I haven't heard about any girlfriends."

"What?" Taylor stares at him. "You don't – Sammy didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Taylor doesn't answer, his face reddening, and Jordan forces out a laugh. "What, did you get married?"

"No, uh, Ebby – I'm gay." Taylor bites his lip and meets Jordan's eyes. "I came out to Sammy and some of the other guys a few years ago."

Jordan blinks at him, mouth going dry. "What?"

"Are you going to be weird about this?" Taylor asks suspiciously. "I swear to god, if you're weird –"

"No, I'm not going to be –"

"Because I never thought you'd be the one to –"

"Shut _up_ Hallsy, I'm not going to be weird! I'm not – Christ, is that why you didn't tell me?"

"No, I just – it was kind of spur of the moment, okay, you weren't there – I think Annie was sick? – and I thought someone would tell you." Taylor coughs awkwardly and lifts his beer. "You really didn't know?"

"No," Jordan says slowly, thinking back. Taylor hadn't dated as much as him when they were living together, but he _had_ dated, and they'd always been women. There had even been that girl he'd been dating right up until a few days before Jordan's wedding – what was her name? Jessica? "When did you realize?"

"About ten years ago," Taylor says, and Jordan can't deal with this anymore, can't stand how little he apparently knows about his best friend. 

"Fuck this," he says, and he drains his glass. "God, and you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't tell anyone!"

"I was your best friend!" snaps Jordan. "We _lived_ together –"

"Fuck you, you don't get to decide that you deserved to know about me when _I_ wasn't ready to accept it," Taylor bursts out. "You don't think this was hard on me? This _isn't about you_." He deflates suddenly. "Sorry."

"No, I – you're right. Sorry." Jordan swallows and searches for the right thing to say. "So, uh – any guys, then?"

Taylor stares at him, then starts laughing, loud and slightly hysterical. "God, Ebby. That's what you want to know?"

"Well, are there?" Jordan asks defensively. 

It takes a moment for Taylor to stop laughing long enough to say, "There was, but we broke up a few months back." Taylor shrugs. "It's hard, dating while I'm not out, you know? Maybe after I retire."

"If you do that – I'll be really proud." Jordan immediately feels like an idiot, more so when Taylor starts laughing again. "I mean it!"

"I know you do, you non." Taylor shakes his head and gets to his feet. "I'm gonna get us another round."

Jordan lets him go and pulls out his phone while he waits. He types out, _y didnt u tell me about hallsy?_ and sends it to Sam. He checks Game Center while he waits for a reply, not really taking in the scores. 

His phone buzzes. _What about him?_

_He's gay._

There's a longer pause between that and Sam's next response. Finally, he gets: 

_Yah. I thought you knew. That's all?_

Jordan frowns at his phone and is about to ask what he means when Taylor returns, two beers in hand, and sets them down on the table. "Here you go."

It's easier now to talk, though still a little stilted. Jordan tells Taylor about Bran and Annie, an easy topic, and Taylor tells Jordan some stories about his ex, who sounds like a real douchebag in Jordan's opinion. Not that he shares that. They fall into awkward silence after a while, and Jordan is wracking his brain for how to fix it when he says, suddenly, "We should get ice cream."

Taylor smiles slowly. "That is a great idea."

Their old ice cream place closed when the twins were five, but there's a pretty good one further down the same block. Jordan laughs when Taylor pulls out a baseball cap to cover his face with. "Who do you think you are, Gretzky?"

"You don't get out that much anymore, do you?" Taylor asks. "Ebs, we won two cups for this city, you don't think they'll recognize you?"

To Jordan's bemusement, they do get recognized by the teenaged cashier, and they end up having to take a picture with her. Taylor raises his eyebrows at Jordan when the cashier turns away get Taylor his mint chocolate chip and mouths _I told you_. Jordan flips him off. 

They drive out to their old overlook of the city and sit inside the car since it's way too cold outside. The city looks beautiful from above, and Jordan has to swallow back the sudden wave of nostalgia. Fuck, he's really missed this. 

"I'm glad you came, Hallsy," he says. "And thank you for telling me about – about you."

Taylor's smile is just barely visible in the reflected light from the city. "Yeah, Ebby."

"I really love you, man," Jordan says, and Taylor goes very still. "The kids do, too, you know that? I know they'd like it if we saw you more. What do you say?"

Taylor eats the last of his cone and licks his fingers. "I can try." He sits quietly for a moment, then says, "Could you take me back to my hotel?"

"Right, you have a game tomorrow," says Jordan. "Light 'em up, eh?"

"Don't let Nail hear you say that," says Taylor, voice light, but when Jordan glances over, he isn't smiling. 

 

The Blues win, though it's close. Jordan sends Taylor a congratulatory text after and gets a smiley face in response. Jordan grins. Bran, who's doing his homework on the dining table next to him, demands to know what he's looking at.

"Just something Uncle Taylor sent me," Jordan says, holding his phone out.

"You and Uncle Taylor were best friends, right?" Bran says after he looks at it. "That's what everyone always says."

"Everyone?" 

"I mean, like, kids at school. And Uncle Sam says it sometimes, but he sounds like he's making fun of you."

"Yeah, he did that a lot. He used to say we were attached at the hip," says Jordan. "We lived together before I married your mom."

"Huh." Bran frowns at him, rubbing at the faint scar along his hairline. "Okay."

He turns back to his math homework. Jordan watches him for a minute. "Why do you ask?"

"I dunno. Just, you know, we see Uncle Nail all the time, and Uncle Ryan, and we see Uncle Sam a lot too, but we almost _never_ see Uncle Taylor, even when he still played for the Oilers."

"Yeah," Jordan says slowly. "He was best man at my wedding, did you know that? But your mom was already pregnant and things kind of went really fast. Next thing I knew, you were two and I barely had time for hockey and you, let alone anything else."

"But he was your best friend," Bran pushes. "Annie's my best friend. Do you think that'll ever happen to us?"

"Well, that's different. You're family."

"I guess." Bran erases one of his answers. "What are we having for dinner?"

Jordan takes the hint and heads through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Through the window, he can see Annie practicing one-timers on the back patio. Her hair has, once again, come out of its braid. No matter how carefully Jordan follows Catie's instructions, he can never make it stay in. 

Jordan has been going over his memories of Taylor, trying to figure out if there's anything else he missed. He can't believe he missed something as important as Taylor being gay – but if Taylor hadn't figured it out until Jordan got married, that might have been why. Most of what happened between winning the Cup the first time, knocking up Catie, and getting married is still kind of a blur to Jordan. And then the twins had arrived, and he lost track of everything other than the dual misery and joy of new parenthood. 

Oh – he had been mad at Taylor during the wedding, he remembers that now. Catie had freaked out when Taylor and Jessica broke up, since it was so last minute, and had ended up begging her neighbor to come so they wouldn't have an empty space at the wedding party table. Taylor had been kind of cranky, too, but well, he'd broken up with his girlfriend and Jordan had just thought it was Taylor being Taylor. 

And then Taylor got drunk, _super_ drunk, and when he got up to give his speech Jordan was convinced it was going to be horrible. But – 

It had been really nice, actually. Jordan doesn't remember the words exactly, but he remembers that it was heartfelt and genuine. Taylor talked a bit about the first time he met Jordan, and how he fell in love easy but hard, and how Jordan was his best friend and he loved him. After, he'd gotten drunker and then punched Sam in the face outside before getting in a cab and presumably going home to sleep it off. 

Jordan never did ask Sam what the fight was about, just remembers him coming back in with a cut on his lip and a stubborn set to his jaw. His wife had iced his mouth and apologized for him, looking as confused as Jordan felt. Jordan didn't see Taylor again until camp started. 

Jordan's knife slips as he's cutting an onion, nicking his finger. He swears and turns to run it under the water –

And he remembers something he hasn't thought about in years. 

It was a week before Jordan's wedding. He didn't know it at the time, but Taylor and Jessica had broken up two days earlier. Jordan was making dinner – it was his turn – but he was shaky with nerves and excitement and he'd burned himself on the stove. Taylor laughed at him and took his hand to run it under the faucet, his smile soft and fond. 

Jordan had said, "I really love you, Hallsy," as the pain from the burn ebbed away, and Taylor looked up, still smiling, and then had opened his mouth, but nothing came out. 

Jordan had been a bit annoyed by that – he meant it, Taylor was his best friend – but Taylor's speech had been so nice and had returned the affection so sincerely that he forgot about it. 

What had Taylor said, exactly? Jordan closes his eyes, summoning up the memory, hazy. Something like, _Jordan has a lot of love to give, and he's given it to this woman here. Catie_ , Taylor said – did he turn to Catie then? Jordan thinks he had, but he mostly remembers what Taylor said next: _You're a great person, and the only reason I'm okay with this is because I know you love him the way I do. May happiness bless your days_.

That had been nice, Jordan thinks, turning off the sink and picking up his knife again. 

Then he drops it, fingers suddenly gone numb. It clatters into the sink, but he pays no mind, running over the last part in his head.

 _The way I do_.

Not _as much as_ _I do_. Not just _I know you love him._

_You love him the way I do_. 

Taylor, who had broken up with his girlfriend a week before. Who had never told Jordan why they had broken up. Who had avoided him for months after the wedding and hadn't wanted to be the twins' godfather at first until Jordan begged him to do it. 

Jordan sinks down to the floor slowly, staring blankly at the stove. It makes a certain kind of hideous sense, why Taylor distanced himself, why Sam was mad at the wedding, even why Catie was sometimes weird about having Taylor over during the holidays. They must have thought Jordan knew. 

How _did_ he not know?

Annie comes in from the yard a few minutes later and pauses as she's kicking off her shoes. "Dad? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says. His voice sounds distant and unconvincing even to himself. 

She slides to her knees next to him and pokes at his shoulder. "You look like how you looked when Mom moved out."

"It's nothing," he tells her. "Go get your brother, we'll go out for dinner."

"But you're cooking." Annie cautiously puts her arms around him and rests her cheek against his shoulder. "Dad, you said you weren't sad about Mom."

"This isn't about Mom, kiddo. It's – a bit more complicated than that." He pats her head. "Now go get your brother while I put away these vegetables."

"Okay," she says. She kisses him on the cheek. "Can we get pizza?"

"Sure." She cheers and scrambles to her feet to go get Bran. He waits until she leaves to pull out his phone and call Sam. 

"Ebs, what's up?" Sam asks when he answers. "Nail said you and Hallsy came over for dinner. Tell me: they aren't having another kid, are they?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me Taylor was in love with me?" Jordan blurts out.

Sam is ominously quiet for nearly a full minute; Jordan is watching the clock on the microwave. Finally, he sighs. "Honestly, we all thought you knew."

"We?"

"Me, Horcs, Ference, Nuge – you know, basically everyone." 

"Fuck," Jordan breathes out. 

"You really didn't know?" Sam asks. "I mean, I kind of figured you didn't after a while, but I thought maybe you were just pretending to make it less awkward." 

"I wasn't."

"Yeah, I get that now," Sam says. "Seriously, Ebs, Hallsy was _devoted_ to you. You never thought that was the slightest bit weird?"

"I didn't – that was just how Taylor was," says Jordan. 

"He was only like that around you," Sam says kindly. Jordan has to put his head between his knees to keep from panicking. 

"Dad?" Bran asks uncertainly from the door. "Are you okay?"

"Go get in the car," Jordan says, more sharply than he means to. "I'll be out in a minute." 

He waits until he hears the twins leave to raise his head back to his phone. "Fuck, Sammy, I really fucked this up."

"It isn't your fault –"

"I probably made it worse all the time without realizing, do you think he thought I knew?"

"Well, he definitely thought you knew after the wedding," Sam says. "I tried to keep him from giving that speech, you know, he was so drunk – after your bachelor party, he ranted to me about how much he hated Catie and how she didn't deserve you and then –"

"And then what?"

"And then he cried," Sam says, sounding uncomfortable. "But Ebs, that isn't your fault –"

"My best friend was in love with me for fucking _years_ and I never even noticed, Sam!" Jordan shouts. He pulls himself in and clenches his jaw before forcing himself to breathe out slowly, calmly. "Fuck, sorry."

"It's over now, Ebs," says Sam. "Taylor's over it, okay? Now that you've clued in finally, maybe you can patch things up and stop using me and Nail as the go-betweens."

"Yeah." Jordan pushes himself to his feet. "Okay, I have to go take the kids to dinner, but – is it okay if I call you?"

"Yeah," says Sam. "Anything you need, buddy. You're clearly mentally deficient so I'd hate to –"

"Oh, fuck you," Jordan says, and he hangs up. 

Annie has apparently claimed the front seat – she's looking very smug and Bran is pouting a little in the back, so Jordan assumes they wrestled for it – and when Jordan gets in, she tucks her feet up underneath her and asks, "Did something happen?"

"No, honey, I'm just an idiot," he says, starting the car. "It'll be fine."

She twists back to look at Bran, who sighs and asks, "Is it Uncle Taylor? Do you miss hockey?"

"What?" Jordan looks at both of them. "No! I promise you, I don't. I'd rather be here with you guys."

"We just though – well, Uncle Ryan is still playing and so is Uncle Nail and Uncle Taylor, and you're the only one who isn't." In the rearview mirror, Jordan sees Bran rub his hand over his scar again. "Mom would take us if you wanted to play again."

"I don't," Jordan says, which isn't entirely true. When he gets in a rink, smells the thick, musky smell of hockey and the cold tang of ice, feels the first shiver go down his back, he misses it. He misses it a lot. He misses having the guys around and throwing socks at Taylor and Nuge when they played X-Box, and he misses skating and the thrill of sliding a perfect pass to Taylor and seeing him bury it in the back of the net. 

But he had decided to come home and be there for his family, and he doesn't regret that, even if him being around all the time might have been a contributing factor in the divorce. He gets to watch his kids become more grown up – become people who worry about their father, in fact.

"It isn't about hockey," he says finally. "And it has nothing to do with you or your mom, I promise. Now which pizza place did you want to go to?"

Annie settles back into her seat. "Ragazzi," she says definitely, and Bran nods in agreement. 

"Done," Jordan says. 

They take a back booth after Jordan has to sign a few autographs, and he asks them about school while they stuff their faces. Annie fastidiously picks the mushrooms off hers and drops them on her brother's slice while he leaves the crust for her, neither of them paying much attention to their thoughtless symbiosis. Jordan smiles at them and wishes, not for the first time, that he knew whether this was a new thing or something they've done since they were babies. 

Annie apparently has a new winger that she likes okay, and Bran is learning a new song on trumpet (Jordan would have to be deaf not to have noticed that one). He gets the impression, rather quickly, that they're trying to distract him from what had upset him earlier, because they keep telling funny stories and then looking at him quickly to see if he's smiling. Jordan wishes he knew a better way to assure them that he's fine. In all honesty, he isn't really sure that he is. It's jarring to realize that for all that he knows about Taylor, for all that they had lived in each other's pockets for years and years, there had been an entire side to him that he had been ignorant of. 

They go home after inhaling an insane amount of pizza. Annie talks Bran into running drills with her outside. Bran is still going to PT for his arm and balance, but he can handle passing to her while she takes shots. Jordan had made the mistake of letting them watch a documentary on Crosby when they were seven or so and Annie had imprinted on the grainy footage of small Sidney taking shots at his family's old dryer, which for some reason she found more impressive than watching her dad and his friends. Ever since then, whenever she's done with homework, she can be found out back even when there's snow on the ground like tonight, taking shots at their practice net. 

Jordan makes hot chocolate for them as a treat and brings it out when it seems like Bran is getting tired. He wraps his arm around Bran's shoulders and says, "You wanna go inside? I'll take over."

"Okay," Bran says, and he gratefully hands over the hockey stick in his hands. "Thanks, Dad."

Annie barely reacts when Jordan takes over passing the orange ball to her, just keeps at it. He watches her and wishes he could see inside her brain as she stares fixedly at the net. 

"Hey, Annie," he says as the night's darkness starts to become oppressive even with their powerful backyard lights. "You want to head inside?"

"I gotta get to two hundred," she says. 

"Honey –"

"I gotta get to two hundred," she says, turning to look at him with that fierce gaze she must have learned from her mother. "If you're cold, you can go inside." 

Jordan watches as she takes another shot. "Don't stay out too long," he says eventually, and he drops a kiss on her head before picking up the rapidly cooling mug of hot chocolate and going back inside. 

He goes to the kitchen to microwave it and finds Bran on the phone, curled in on it as he speaks quietly to the person on the other end. Jordan listens absently, to Bran's quiet, "Mm-hmm, okay," and then, "Thanks, Uncle Taylor."

Jordan pauses as he's reaching up to put the mug in the microwave and looks over his shoulder. Bran sees him looking and immediately looks guilty. 

"Hey, Dad," says Bran, straightening up. "I know I'm supposed to be doing homework –"

"Taylor's on the phone?" Jordan says. "Can I talk to him?"

"Uh, sure," says Bran. He hands the phone out to Jordan. 

"Hey," Jordan says, leaning against the stove. "What's up?"

"Nothing," says Taylor. "Bran just wanted to talk."

Jordan glances back at his son. "He call you a lot?"

"Not that often anymore, but he called me a bunch after –" Taylor coughs. "I'm surprised he didn't tell me about you and Catie."

"We asked them not to talk about it too much," says Jordan. "Hey, I – I've been wanting to talk to you about something." He takes the hot chocolate from the microwave and walks out of the kitchen so Bran doesn't hear. 

"Yeah?" Taylor sounds wary. "What?" 

"I think I might have accidentally been kind of an asshole over the years," says Jordan. "I, uh – I'm sorry if I was."

"It's okay," says Taylor, now sounding amused. "It happens. What specifically were you referring to?"

Jordan bites his lip, chickening out. Over the phone is not the way to ask Taylor about being in love with him. "I could have made more of an effort to keep in touch. I should have. You should come over more, I know the kids would love it."

"We're not in Edmonton _that_ often," says Taylor, but he's laughing now, which is nice to hear. 

"Well, what about the summer?" presses Jordan. "You train with Nail still sometimes, right?"

"Yeah, I – yeah. Okay." Taylor laughs harder, words coming out bubbly with giggles. "What, did you forget how to live without my KD or something?"

"I miss you," Jordan says, honest. "We should catch up. For real this time."

"Sure," says Taylor. "That sounds – nice."

"Great." Jordan realizes he's grinning and tries to force it down to normal levels. "Let me know, eh?"

"Yeah, man." Taylor is quiet for a moment, and it's nice. It reminds Jordan of when they shared hotel rooms, listening to each other breathe late into the night. "Hey, hand me back to Bran?" 

"Oh, sure." Jordan pads back into the kitchen and gives the phone to Bran. "Sorry," he adds. "Just wanted to talk to him."

"It's okay," says Bran. "We were talking about you anyway."

"What?"

Bran grins toothily. Jordan sighs, but smiles as he swats at him, and leaves to go to his office to read emails and check video from the game two nights ago. Catie is coming back from Chicago at the end of the week, and the kids will be at hers for a few weeks, and he's supposed get caught up with what he's missed before coming back into the office. It'll be nice to work again, but he's going to miss having them around, making noise at all hours of the day and night, covering the dining room and kitchen tables with homework and hockey gear and music. The worst part about getting divorced – and there's been a lot of awful shit about getting divorced – is that he doesn't get to see his kids that often. He still sees them more than when he was playing, but not nearly as much as he wants to, and it hurts, sometimes, seeing them go off with their mom. 

The Avalanche are in town the same weekend the kids go back to Catie, he notices when he glances at the NHL calendar, and he sends off a quick email to Ryan, asking if he wants to catch up. Ryan replies in the morning saying, sure, and he's bringing Gabe. Jordan sighs – he'd wanted to pick Ryan's brain about Taylor – but he likes Gabe and wouldn't mind seeing him again even if he jokingly blames him for Ryan going to the Avs when he became a UFA four years ago. 

_Sure_ , he replies. 

One of the things Jordan misses the most about hockey, aside from hockey itself, is the camaraderie of fellow players. He was never a partier, but he did like going out and celebrating games, catching drinks with the guys during a long road trip just to keep the energy up. It's hard, since he's home in Edmonton all the time and everyone else is traveling, to find the time to hang out with his friends. 

He's sneakily, guiltily glad that the twins are with their mom when the Avs come to town so he can drink more than he otherwise would. He misses them around the house, but they're a very physical reminder of how much his life has changed since he was playing, and sometimes he wants to forget that. No one ever prepared them for how to live once they'd left the game. Jordan wakes early still, phantom exhaustion in his legs, and some mornings he's halfway out the door before he remembers he doesn't have to be at the rink. He has clung to hockey more than maybe he should have, took the offer of a part-time front office job from the Oil Kings without even hesitating. He wants the chill of rink air on his face and the horrible, never-disappearing stench of hockey gear. He can't shake the longing for it. 

He goes to the game, and it's weird to watch the Oilers play without him, as disorienting as it always was to watch them when he was injured. He knows what Nail is shouting at the team between shifts, knows the trainers are saying. He can almost hear it when he closes his eyes. 

The Avs win in a shoot out, Matty roofing it over the shoulder of Ivarsson and skating away with a smug little fist pump. He hasn't lost his scoring touch yet, though he's only a year younger than Jordan and has slowed down a bit. Down on the bench, Nail is speaking rapidly, probably trying to encourage the team. It's weird to think of him as the elder statesman, but that's what he is now – the older, experienced alternate who has been there forever and knows what it's like to raise the Cup. Nail, of all people. 

Jordan meets Ryan outside the dressing room, hanging out awkwardly in his jeans and t-shirt. Ryan comes out with Gabe and Matt in tow, hair still damp from the shower. He gives Jordan a quick one-armed hug and a dimpled smile before asking how he is. 

They exchange pleasantries on their way out and collect Nail along the way. He seems inclined to pout over the loss until Ryan pinches him in his ticklish spot, right under his armpit, and he squirms away, cursing in Russian but laughing as he does. 

They pick another hotel bar, taking a back corner where hopefully no one other than the waitress will spot them. No one lets Jordan buy his own drinks – Nail says, "We're still making the big money, Ebs," grinning widely and cackling when Jordan flips him off – and it takes almost an hour for Jordan to cotton onto what they're doing. 

"I don't need to drown my sorrows," he says as Gabe sets a beer down in front of him. "I told you, it's a very pleasant divorce."

"You're still getting divorced," Ryan says, scooting over to give Gabe more room in the booth. 

"Maybe we just want you to get fat so the rest of us look better," suggests Matt, grinning over the top of his glass. 

"Ha ha." Jordan lifts his own glass in salute and drinks half of it in one long gulp. "Happy?"

"Happier." Ryan leans on his hand and narrows his eyes at him. "How are you really?"

"I swear, I'm fine," Jordan insists. 

"Are you dating again?" Gabe asks with his usual, irritating aura of ageless knowledge and wisdom. "Have you _thought_ about it?"

For a brief, hallucinatory moment, Jordan thinks about Taylor and their "ice cream date," as Horcs had always put it and flushes. It's the closest he's had to a date since the divorce, which is embarrassing and not at all what Gabe means.

"No," he says. Gabe lifts his hands as if to say _see? Proof._ "But I have the kids to think of!" he protests. "I don't want to upset their lives more than I already have."

"I think they'd understand you dating again," Gabe says. 

"Maybe, but I'm just not interested right now." Jordan slides his nail under the top layer of his coaster, peeling apart the thin, flimsy cardboard. "I need to get my life in order first."

"Listen to you," chirps Nail cheerfully. "So grown up. So wise. Can't date because you're _responsible_." He pronounces the last word gleefully, letting it fall off his tongue like he's never heard it before. 

Ryan observes Jordan over the top of his glass, thoughtful and unnerving as he sometimes could be. "Why _did_ you get divorced?" he asks. 

Jordan hates this question, because he knows and he doesn't know. He knows that, to most people, it would seem like Catie left him. But they stopped having sex long before he retired, and he never asked what she did when he was gone, even if sometimes it seemed like she wanted him to. She chafed against the disappearance of her formerly boundless ambition in the face of being a housewife, and he struggled with balancing playing and being there for his family. And neither of them were ever quite the same after Bran's accident. There are too many reasons for it to be summed up in one tidy explanation, too many factors that led to the slow disappearance of anything resembling genuine love between them. He still cares about Catie – that's what people find the strangest – and he isn't in love with anyone else. They didn't fight more than normal, they didn't dramatically slam doors or break glasses. They had simply been worn away by time and distance until the space grew too much for them to bear. 

Gabe touches Ryan's arm and says something too quiet for Jordan to hear. Matt clears his throat and says, "I feel like breaking my diet even more, who wants to order some food?"

Jordan unclenches his hand from his glass and says, "I'd eat some wings." The words rasp against his tongue on their way out, and he swallows twice in quick succession to clear the sorrow from his throat. 

He gets home to his empty house and stands in the doorway to the twins' room for a few moments, looking at their neatly made beds. They'd asked them once if they wanted separate rooms, but the twins had said they liked being in the same room. Most of the old hockey stuff is gone from Bran's side, though he still has a pennant from the Cup run when the twins were four above his bed. Jordan runs his finger over their dresser, then leaves the room and shuts the door quietly behind him. 

The sheets on his bed are cold, and he has to wiggle around before he feels warm enough to relax, but he's still antsy and restless. He picks up his phone, thumbs through the contacts, and ends up pressing Taylor's name. 

"Hey," he says when Taylor picks up, voice a little groggy. "Sorry."

"No, it's – it's fine." Taylor sounds more awake now. "What's going on? Did something happen?"

"No – no, of course not." Jordan chews his lower lip, looking at the ceiling. "Saw Nuge today."

"Yeah? Gabe?"

"And Matt and Nail." Jordan picks at a loose thread at the edge of his comforter. "It's funny."

"What is?"

"We're old now." 

"Had to happen sometime."

"I guess." They're both quiet for a moment. Then Jordan clears his throat. "So you know what you're doing this summer yet?"

"Sipping from the Cup again, if all goes well," says Taylor. He laughs, short, bitter. "I don't know. Training."

"You should come stay with us for a bit," says Jordan impulsively. "Train with Nail or whatever. Maybe make me get back in shape."

"That seems like a lot of work, are you gonna pay me for that?" 

"Only if you do a really good job. No, man – the kids would love it, I know they would. Bran, especially." 

Taylor is silent for a long moment before he exhales loudly and says, "I'll think about it."

Jordan decides not to push and changes subject to the game he'd caught highlights of the night before. "You looked good last night. Nice empty netter."

Taylor laughs. "You saw that, eh?"

They talk about the game until Jordan's eyes start to grow heavy. It's almost like when they were rooming together on the road, talking until the early hours of the morning about stupid shit like what movies Taylor hated (most of them) and why Jordan was having trouble with Elizabeth, and later, Catie. Jordan loved those nights and had actually been sad when they started getting separate rooms. Maybe, he realizes now, that was the best for Taylor, but Jordan had missed listening to Taylor complain about what was on TV or wax lyrical about Crosby when a Pens game happened to be on. 

He starts calling Taylor every few nights, then every other night, especially when he's asked to travel out to a couple of games for work. Hotel rooms are lonely without Catie and the kids to come home to, lonelier still without Taylor to bitch and whine about the beds, the food, the lights. Taylor doesn't complain as much as he used to, but he can still work up a good snit when Jordan prompts him. Jordan had forgotten how much Taylor could make him laugh. 

He says as much after listening to Taylor complain about the water pressure in his hotel room, a rant that lasted for nearly five minutes. Taylor is quiet for a moment, then chuckles. 

"I like making you laugh," he says. "It was never that hard though."

Jordan thumbs at his phone. When Taylor says things like that, he wonders if they should talk about it, if he should ask about how Taylor felt about him. It feels nosy, though, and ultimately unimportant to their relationship now. Jordan just wants his best friend back. 

"Well, you're good at it," Jordan says. "Good job."

"You're a freak," Taylor tells him. "Go to bed, you non."

Jordan laughs again and hangs up smiling. 

 

The twins' birthdays, and then Jordan's – he's getting old, he thinks wryly when he blows out the thirty-nine candles Nail has very thoughtfully put on a cake for him – pass without much fuss. The twins are excited to be starting junior high in the fall, particularly Bran, who is looking forward to playing with a better quality school band. Taylor sends the twins very expensive gifts – a new stick for Annie and a fancy trumpet bell for Bran, insisting that eleven is a very important age when Jordan calls to protest. He even sends Jordan a gift: a package of KD with instructions on how to make Taylor's "very special" recipe, which just calls for putting bacon in it and some chili flakes. 

The Blues miss the playoffs by a handful of points, and so do the Oilers, so Jordan is reduced to rooting for the Flames and trying not to feel guilty about it. They are blown out of their second series by the Avs, leaving Jordan to deal with smug calls from Nuge and Matt and Gabe, all of whom say something along the lines of, "Suck it, Alberta!" before hanging up. 

Taylor comes up to Edmonton a few weeks into playoffs but doesn't come around to see them until after the Final is over. The kids are with Catie, and Jordan is once again starting to feel a bit at loose ends. The Oil Kings' season is long over and there isn't a whole lot the front office does until after the draft. He's still pretty junior in the organization, so they don't have much for him to do and he ends up drifting around the house most days. 

"It's okay if you take the kids for a few days every now and then," Catie says when they meet for their bimonthly divorce arrangement lunches. She licks her finger and flicks a page in the paperwork from their lawyers. "I know it's not precisely in the custody agreement, but you seem –" She hesitates. 

"Bored?" Jordan suggests. 

"I was going to say lonely." Catie smiles at him, all too knowing. "Jordan, you just have to ask."

"I don't – okay, well." Jordan toys with his fork, raking it through the salad dressing on the plate. "Taylor's in town and I thought it might be nice to have dinner with him. I'm worried about Bran."

"Me too," Catie says. "But do you think Taylor is the answer?"

"Why wouldn't he be? Bran seems to talk to him more than anyone." 

"Have _you_ tried talking to him?" 

"Of course I have," Jordan says. "But I have no idea what to say to him. What _can_ I say? I wasn't there most of the time and then I wasn't even there when he got knocked out in the middle of a game."

His voice cracks, and he tightens his hand around the stem of his fork to fight the sudden well of guilt and anger and bitter sadness. He can still recall the horrible rush of nausea when Catie called and said, "Bran's been hurt," her voice rough and full of tears. "Come home, please." 

"You were working," Catie says. 

"Family comes first, or it should." Jordan sighs and sits back in his chair. "I don't know how to talk to him about it. He gets really quiet whenever I try, but I think he talks to Taylor."

"You have to talk to him about it eventually." Catie pulls out her phone and is quiet for a moment as she flicks through her calendar. "How about next weekend?"

"I'll ask Taylor." The question burns on the tip of his tongue – _Did you know Taylor was in love with me?_ – and Jordan is about to ask when Catie's phone chirps, and she excuses herself with an apologetic smile. Jordan sits back and sends a text to the twins and Taylor. 

_Dinner, next weekend?_

__

He picks up the twins from Catie's house on Saturday, and they meet Taylor at the restaurant, an Asian fusion place that the twins love because of the dumpling soup. Taylor actually gives Jordan an affectionate hug this time before squeezing the life out of the twins. Annie squirms and protests, and Bran makes a face, but both of them are smiling when they sit down on either side of Taylor. 

It's a nice dinner, easy and familiar – famili _al_ , even – and Jordan relaxes into it, laughs when Taylor shares some undoubtedly edited stories about his teammates and prompts Bran to talk about band, listening with apparent interest. Jordan watches Taylor's face, full-jawed and handsome with age, the awkwardness of his youth having faded over the years. He still has his full lips and weird eyebrows and even more scars, but he's not bad-looking, really. Jordan knows girls used to fall over themselves for Taylor; guys must too. 

"What?" Taylor asks, catching Jordan's look. "I have something on my face?"

"No," Jordan says, and he looks down quickly. 

They go out for ice cream after, and Jordan purposefully monopolizes Annie by asking about hockey to give Bran some time with Taylor. They sit in the shop, Annie demolishing her sprinkle-covered monstrosity in record time before eyeing Jordan's. He nudges his cup towards her and looks out the window to where Taylor and Bran are leaning on the car's front bumper, heads bent together. 

"How are you doing?" Jordan asks Annie when he looks back. "With – everything?"

Annie shrugs. "I'm fine," she says. "It kind of sucks that we don't have one house, but at least Mom still lives in town."

"Would you rather live with just one of us?" Jordan asks. He squeezes his thigh, suddenly anxious. "We can do that, if that would be better."

She looked up, eyebrows raised, and for a moment Jordan sees himself reflected in her, miniaturized and brighter than he ever was. "Don't be dumb, Dad."

"Don't call your dad dumb, kiddo." He ruffles her hair. "Okay. Just asking."

She rolls her eyes. "You worry too much," she tells him matter-of-factly before bending back over his ice cream and digging in with gusto. 

When Jordan asks, Taylor agrees to come hang out for a bit, and he follows them home. Bran picks one of the newer Pixar movies after conferring with Annie, and they squeeze together on the sofa to watch. Predictably, Annie passes out half an hour in, her brother following about fifteen minutes later, and Jordan jerks his head towards the kitchen and mouths _beer?_ at Taylor.

Taylor nods and carefully extracts himself from beneath Annie, whose head has lolled onto his shoulder. They go together to the kitchen and Jordan digs out two beers, twists the caps off, and passes one over. 

"Thanks for coming over," Jordan says. "Too bad about the Blues, but fuck the Stars, eh?"

Taylor snorts and clinks his bottle against Jordan's. "Damn right."

They drink in silence, not looking at each other, and then Jordan puts his bottle down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Have you talked to Bran?"

"I talk to Bran a lot," Taylor says. "What about?"

"I –" Jordan swallows and finally looks at Taylor. 

"The accident," Taylor fills in. He sets his bottle down on the counter behind him and hesitantly steps towards Jordan. "Ebby, you know that wasn't your fault."

"No?" Jordan sighs and leans forward, and Taylor catches him, one hand on his shoulder, the other landing lightly between Jordan's shoulder blades. "I pushed him to play hockey. He never liked it."

"He did," Taylor says. He rubs gently, fingers snagging on the neck of Jordan's shirt, briefly touching skin. "Look, Ebby, Bran – he hasn't said it, exactly, but I think he blames himself for you retiring."'

"What?" Jordan pulls back, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he got hurt and you retired at the end of the year," Taylor says. "It is the reason, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but –" Jordan shakes his head. "It wasn't just that."

"I know that, but I don't think Bran does." Taylor picks up his beer again. "I know it's hard, but you need to talk to him about it." 

Jordan makes a face. "I don't know what to say."

"Like I do?" Taylor snorts and tips his beer back. "He just talks to me because he knows we were best friends."

"We _are_ best friends," Jordan says. 

"Ebby –"

"Do you see me talking about this to anyone else?" Jordan demands. "I trust you, Hallsy. I made you the twins' godfather. That wasn't, I don't know, obligation."

"Ebs, come on, you know that's not what I meant." Taylor rubs his hand over his face and shakes his head. "I just mean – we haven't talked all that much since you got married."

"That wasn't my choice," Jordan says without meaning to. He regrets it instantly, as Taylor's face shuts down in anger, brows together, lips thinning into a line.

"Fuck you," Taylor says harshly, and he sets his beer down so hard that it sloshes out of the bottle. "I didn't come here for this."

"No, Hallsy – fuck, I'm doing this wrong. " Jordan grabs his arm and pulls him around to face him. "I'm – I wish you hadn't started – I really fucking missed you, okay?"

"Are we talking about this now?" Taylor asks. "Because let me just tell you, you don't get to tell me that I should have stuck around more. I couldn't be around you, do you get that?"

"I do." Jordan tightens his grip on Taylor's arm. "I didn't mean to – I really only wanted to know what Bran said to you, I didn't mean to bring any of this up."

Taylor looks at him and very deliberately relaxes. "Okay."

"Sorry." Jordan drops his hand away. "Can we just drink our beer and pretend this didn't happen?"

"Sure," Taylor says, and he even smiles. 

Jordan has to enlist Taylor's help in getting the kids up to their room, and is impressed by how easily Taylor throws Annie over his shoulder, barely even seeming to notice the weight. Bran is still light enough that Jordan can carry him without issue, but Annie is becoming solid with childhood muscle and is a little taller than her brother. Taylor gives Jordan a commiserating look over Annie's back and waits for Jordan to lead the way to their bedroom. 

They get the twins settled in and Jordan shuts the door as quietly as he can before leaning against the hallway and rolling his shoulders. "I really need to do more upper body workouts," he jokes, glancing at Taylor. 

"You can work out with me a bit," Taylor says. "See how well you can keep up. You got some pudge." He pokes Jordan's stomach and smirks when Jordan curls away. 

"Yeah, yeah." Jordan scoots away from him. "You mean that?"

"Sure." Taylor drops his hand back to his side. "Best friends, you said."

"I don't want – only if you want to."

"Only if _you_ want," Taylor says. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it, dude."

He has a point there. Taylor has never been one for pointless social niceties, and Jordan doesn't think he's changed that much. 

"I do want to," Jordan says. "And thanks. For – yeah. Thanks."

"What are friends for?" Taylor asks, wry tilt to his smile, and Jordan is still thinking about the curve of his lips when he finally manages to fall asleep, an hour after Taylor leaves. 

He gets the twins for two weeks every month during the summer, and he plans out what he wants to do with them. They have to get together with Nail's family at some point and have a barbecue with whoever else is in town, and Bran has been making noises about going to the water park. Sam's hellions want to come too, so they'll have to wait for when they aren't busy with one of their seemingly endless number of camps and summer projects. 

Nail's barbecue comes first, and Jordan is roped into helping out with the grill while the Yakupovs take care of the salad and sides. Bran and Annie splash in the pool with the other kids, and Jordan bickers with Sam over the grill, nudging him away when he tries to take the hamburger patties off. 

"Dude, you're going to give everyone e. coli," he says, stepping on Sam's foot. "Back off."

"Not everyone likes their meat as tough as leather." Sam hip-checks him away. "Go talk to Hallsy, he just got here."

Jordan looks over towards the open doors. Taylor's hair is very bright in the sunshine, and he's smiling at something Nail is saying to him. Jordan swallows anxiously. 

"We never really talked about it," he says to Sam without looking away. "We kind of mentioned it, but – what do I even say to him about it?"

"We're not having this conversation right now," Sam says. "Check back when I've had a few beers."

"You're no help at all," Jordan tells him. After a moment of hesitation, he grabs two beers out of the cooler and goes to say hi to Taylor, proffering one as a peace offering. 

"Hey," he says, feeling unaccountably awkward. "How have you been?"

Taylor smiles at him, and it's sweet and crinkle-eyed, like it used to be. "Ebby, I saw you like a week ago."

"Something could have happened between then and now," Jordan protests. "Beer?"

"Thanks." Taylor clinks their bottles together. "Nothing's changed. I've worked out a bit, I guess."

"You have to let me know what you're doing so I can join in," Jordan says. He throws his arm around Taylor's shoulders and leads him to the lawn. "Have you signed a contract for next year yet?"

"No," Taylor says. "We're negotiating right now, but – I honestly don't know what I want. Maybe a year or two more."

"You could keep going." Jordan pops the cap off his beer. "You're still good, man."

"I'm old," Taylor says. "I'm old and it _hurts_ after games now. I love playing, but I don't know if I can keep doing this, you know?"

"Why don't you retire now, then?"

Taylor shakes his head. "You retired and you had a family and kids to go home to. I have – well." He shrugs. "I don't even have a boyfriend anymore."

"Uncle Taylor!" shrieks Bran, bursting out of the water. "Uncle Taylor!"

Taylor turns, smiling again, and Jordan forgets what he was about to say – some needless platitude, probably – in the face of soaking wet Bran making a beeline for them. Bran tackles Taylor to the ground, cackling when Taylor complains about getting wet, and then runs off again. Jordan narrows his eyes and then sees the bowl of punch on the table and shakes his head. 

"He is going to crash so hard," he says. 

"Annie's going to, too," says Taylor, nodding at where she's having a splash fight with Ksenia. "Have fun getting them home."

"Thanks." Jordan sips his beer and thinks to ask, "Did you ever want kids?"

Taylor shrugs, but he's watching the pool unblinkingly. "Sure. It's not really an option for me, though."

"Why not?"

"You kind of need a woman to have a baby, Ebby," Taylor says. "Thought you'd figured that out."

"Fuck you," Jordan says, rolling his eyes. "You can adopt."

"I could. I kind of always thought I'd have someone, though." Taylor sighs. "And that would raise a lot of complicated issues."

"Have you ever thought about, you know." Jordan wishes there was a universal hand signal for _come out_. "Maybe after you retire?"

"Maybe. I guess it wouldn't be such a big deal anymore, not with that kid on the Rangers, but I don't really think it's anyone's business." 

"I get that." Jordan leans back on the grass and throws an arm over his eyes. "I think you'd be a great dad."

Taylor starts laughing and can't seem to stop, curling in on himself. Jordan squints at him, confused, and Taylor eventually stops long enough to say, "My ex would say the exact opposite."

"Well, he's an asshole, then," Jordan says. "You're great with the twins. You always have been."

"They're easy." Taylor pats Jordan's arm absently. "I took care of you for how many years, didn't I?"

"Excuse me? You took care of _me_?"

"Remember when you got the flu?" Taylor retorts. "All three times?"

Jordan does; Taylor had made him chicken soup, getting better each time, and had kept Jordan company in his room, watching bad television and passing him Nyquil and tissues. Jordan had gotten him sick the second time and he'd had to take care of Taylor, and had mocked Taylor for whining the whole time. He felt kind of bad about it the next year when he got sick again. 

"Okay, fair," Jordan says. "But you only showered at the rink for like the first year we were living in Edmonton."

"That was a long time ago," Taylor says. "I'm better now."

"I'm sure you are. You live alone now." Jordan winces as soon as he said it. "I mean –"

"Yeah." Taylor kicks Jordan's leg. "Want me to get you a burger?"

"Please." Jordan closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of the party. Someone approaches, and then a damp finger probes his cheek. "Annie?" he guesses.

"Dad, are you asleep?" she asks, flopping onto his stomach and getting his shirt wet. "Are you hungover?"

Jordan's eyes fly open in horror. "Who taught you that word?" he demands, squinting down at her. 

"Uncle Sam," Annie says, like it's obvious. "Are you?"

" _No_ ," Jordan says. He pushes himself up on his elbows. "Just getting some sun."

"Oh." Annie considers this, then grins. "Okay. I'm gonna go get food!"

"Go easy on the punch!" he calls after her hopelessly. Taylor chuckles from somewhere above him. Jordan tilts his head back and says, "You're not the one who has to deal with them after."

"I'll help if you want." Taylor sits down cross-legged and hands Jordan a plate. Their hands brush and Jordan jerks away without meaning to, surprised by the contact. Taylor doesn't seem to notice, bent over his own plate, and Jordan stares at the top of his head for a moment, the pale, delicate-seeming stripe of pale scalp, the golden hair. _Curls for the girls_ , he thinks, nonsensically. 

"Eat," Taylor says, glancing up, and Jordan automatically lifts the burger to his mouth. Taylor remembered how Jordan takes it – ketchup, tomatoes, lettuce, pickles, hold the onions. Jordan chews slowly, still staring at Taylor, allowing himself to catalogue the changes in him, from the way Taylor seems to hold himself now – straighter, more relaxed – to the soft set of his mouth, less aggressive, more thoughtful. 

He looks around for his kids after he finishes eating, and spots Annie immediately, seeing her sitting on the table and talking animatedly to Ksenia. But he doesn't see Bran. He's halfway to his feet before Taylor looks up and says, "Ebby?"

"Where's Bran?" he asks. He doesn't wait for Taylor to respond, just takes off in Nail's direction. "Nail," he says, interrupting his conversation, "have you seen Bran?"

He hasn't; neither has Sammy or Rachel or Zohra, and Jordan goes inside the house, calling Bran's name. There's a part of him that knows logically that Bran is probably fine, that he's just in the bathroom or something, but he'll never be able to wipe away the memory of the frenzied ride to the hospital, of meeting Catie in the waiting room and being led to Bran's room, where he was still unconscious, his arm in a cast and his face bruised around the stitches. He's afraid for both his children at the best of times. He's only grown increasingly terrified for Bran.

"Dad?" Bran says, peeking out of one of the rooms. "I'm in here."

Jordan turns and sees him standing in the doorway to the guest room. He clutches his hand to his chest and takes a deep breath. "Christ. Are you okay?"

Bran shrugs. "Just a little tired. I wanted to take a nap."

Jordan wraps his arm around Bran's shoulders and squeezes him. "Okay. Don't just disappear like that, though."

"Sorry." Bran tucks his head into Jordan's sternum and hugs him. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"It's okay." He kisses Bran's head. "I love you, buddy."

" _Dad_ ," Bran complains. 

"Sorry, I know." Jordan releases him. "Go take your nap. I'll be outside."

"Okay." Bran smiles at him and retreats back inside the guest room. Jordan leans against the doorframe, waiting for his heart to calm down. 

"Ebby?"

He looks around and sees Taylor approaching. He holds his finger to his lips. "Bran's taking a nap."

"You found him." Taylor looks as relieved as Jordan feels. He comes in closer and rests against the opposing wall. "You all right?"

"I'm fine." Jordan reaches out and plucks at Taylor's belt loop absently. "I think I'm just not used to doing this alone yet."

"You aren't alone," Taylor says. "You have me, and Nail, and Sam – and Nuge, when he can be bothered to come up here. We'll always help you out if you need it."

"Thanks." Jordan tugs harder on Taylor's pants. "Why did you follow me in here?"

"You looked upset." Taylor gently removes Jordan's hand. "Let's go back outside."

Jordan falls into step behind Taylor and goes out into the bright sunlight with him. 

They stay late to help Nail and Zohra with clean up, Bran and Annie dozing on the living room couch while Taylor throws trash into the bag Jordan is holding open for him. Sam rolls his eyes at them as he drags Rachel and the kids away to the car and says, "See you later, you nons."

Jordan checks that his kids aren't looking before flipping him off. Taylor cackles and throws another crumpled up plate in a smooth arc towards Jordan's trash bag. Jordan grins at him; it's nearly the same as when they threw parties at their place together and had to clean up after the fact, drunk and clumsy with exhaustion. After, they'd collapse onto the couch and, more often than not, fall asleep on each other. Jordan kind of misses that kind of companionship; by the time Catie and he got married and moved in together, she was already pregnant and not much longer after that they had two infants to take care of and hardly any time to spare. 

"You want to come over for a bit tonight?" Jordan asks when they've picked up as much trash as they can stand. "Watch a movie or something?"

Taylor checks the time and sighs. "I'd like to, but I have training tomorrow. Did you want to come?"

Jordan winces. "Should I?"

"You said you wanted to." Taylor pinches Jordan's arm and grins at him. "Gotta get rid of this, bud."

"Fuck you," Jordan says. He bumps his hip against Taylor's. "Okay. What time?"

"Nine." Taylor grins when Jordan groans. "I'll pick you up."

"Thanks." Jordan shakes his head."This is going to be bad."

Taylor smirks and carries the trash out to the bins. Jordan goes to wake the twins and usher them out to the car, and sees Taylor silhouetted against the bright outside lights. He lifts his hand in farewell, and Taylor waves back. 

"Night, Ebby," he calls. 

"Night, Hallsy," Jordan replies, and he gets in the car to drive home. 

 

The gym is a nightmare. 

Taylor's trainer is shorter than both of them, ripped as hell, has a heavy French Canadian accent, and is tougher than anyone Jordan ever used when he played. By the end of the session, he's dripping sweat and breathing hard, while Taylor's forehead is only slightly damp and he's laughing openly at Jordan. Jordan sticks his tongue out and collapses on the floor, watching Taylor lower himself down from the chin-up bar. 

Taylor crouches down next to him and prods at his chest. "François didn't kill you, did he?"

"Not yet," Jordan grumbles. 

"You asked for it," Taylor points out. He offers his hand. "Shower and lunch?"

"It's still early," Jordan points out. 

"We'll pick up the kids. By then, it'll be time to eat, eh?" He picks up his towel and flings it over his shoulder. "Let's go."

Jordan had left the kids in the care of their usual babysitter, an Edmonton college student named Priya who was also a twin, and he pays and thanks her while Taylor gathers Annie and Bran from the living room where they're sacked out watching cartoons. Bran is clinging to Taylor's arm when they emerge, chattering away, and it's so sweet that Jordan wishes he was fast enough with his phone to get a picture before they noticed. 

Annie bounces up to him and says, "Vietnamese?" in a hopeful voice. "I want pho."

"It's summer," Jordan protests, but he's already mentally running through the map in his head to figure out where the nearest place is. 

" _Dad_ ," she whines, grabbing his hand. 

"Okay," he says, and he lets her lead the way out to the car. 

They get ice cream after lunch again, and Jordan hangs back with Bran while Taylor and Annie have a battle over who can get more gummy worms in their mouth. Bran drags his spoon through the chocolate ice cream and sighs. 

"What do you want to talk about, Dad?" he asks. 

Jordan stares at him. "What?"

"You _always_ take us out for ice cream when you want to talk to us about something serious." He ticks his fingers off. "Your retirement, the divorce, Mom moving out –"

"Okay," Jordan says, holding up his hand. "I get it."

"Last time, you had Uncle Taylor talk to me," Bran continues, ignoring him. "But I know that's because you wanted him to."

"I didn't ask him what you said," Jordan says uncomfortably. 

Bran shrugs. "It's okay if you did." He sticks his spoon in his ice cream and looks up. "Dad, I don't hate hockey."

"I never said you did," Jordan says, confused now, and a little amazed Bran had picked up on all that. "I just – worry."

"I really love hockey," Bran says wistfully. "But I'm okay with watching it." He rubs at his wrist, seemingly without noticing. "You can talk about it in front of me. I won't get upset."

"Maybe I will, you ever think of that?" Jordan ruffles Bran's hair and pulls him up against his side. "I want you to have things that you love."

"But I can't have hockey," Bran says pragmatically, and Jordan nods, heart hurting. Bran had cried, quietly, after they left that doctor's appointment, but afterwards he had cleaned up his face and told Catie and Jordan that he wanted to start taking music lessons. Jordan had given in instantly, guilty over pushing Bran into hockey as soon as he was old enough to balance on skates, and still conscious of the healing stitches on his head, the bulky cast on his arm. 

"And I still love you very much," Jordan says. 

"I know." Bran hugs him, one-armed, and then squirms away. "Eww, Annie!"

Annie wiggles her ice-cream laden tongue at them. Jordan sighs and gives Taylor a pointed look. Taylor stifles his laughter and tries to assume a stern expression as he looks at Annie and says, "Eat your food, Annalise."

When they return home, Annie and Bran troop back to the living room – Jordan is kind of looking forward to them going to camp so he doesn't have to come up with other things for them to do, since all he did during his summers were play video games and work out – and Jordan and Taylor linger at the door, talking about Nuge's latest email full of photos from Sweden. 

"He's so smug," complains Taylor. "Sweden isn't so great."

"Canada solidarity," Jordan agrees. He leans against the wall next to Taylor and smiles at him. "Thanks for today."

"You want to work out tomorrow?" Taylor asks. "Or do you need a day?"

"Let's see how I feel tomorrow," Jordan says wryly, rolling his shoulders. "I'm already feeling sore."

"Aww, need me to kiss it better?" Taylor smirks. "Poor Ebby is out of shape."

"We can't all be ripped gods like you." Jordan pats Taylor's stomach. Taylor tenses. "Show-off."

Taylor doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he smiles, though it doesn't quite seem sincere. "I should go."

"Taylor –"

"Thanks for letting me crash your family time." Taylor pulls away and is halfway out the door before Jordan has the chance to stop him. Jordan slumps and closes the door behind him. He hadn't gotten the chance to tell Taylor about his conversation with Bran, and he wants to know what Taylor thinks, if he said the right things. 

"Hey Dad, Toy Story is on!" Annie calls from the living room, and Jordan goes to join them, squeezing in between them obnoxiously to make them roll their eyes and laugh. 

 

Jordan falls into a schedule where he works out with Taylor every other day during the week, leaving the kids with the Yakupovs or Priya or the Gagners while he goes to have the shit kicked out of him by Francois's training regimen. He has to admit that it's effective; by the end of July, he's in better shape than he has been since he retired. After, they usually catch lunch with the kids, if Jordan has them that day, and sometimes a movie. It's almost just like the summers they'd spent together before Jordan got married; the only thing really different is Bran and Annie tagging along.

Taylor re-signs with St. Louis at the beginning of August, and to celebrate, Jordan insists he come along on the water park excursion. Bran decides to use his painfully tragic puppy eyes to get Taylor to agree, and predictably he caves in under a minute. 

"You're a menace, Brandon Eberle," Taylor says, shaking him by the scruff of the neck. "Only use that power for good, okay?"

"With great power comes great responsibility," Bran agrees solemnly before grinning again and running off to tell Annie. 

"You're sure you're okay with me coming along?" Taylor asks Jordan, who watched the whole thing with poorly hidden amusement. "I feel like I keep crashing your time with the kids."

"Don't be an idiot, I like hanging out with you and so do they." Jordan slaps Taylor on the thigh. "Be prepared: Sam's kids like to shove people into pools."

"Of course they do." Taylor rolls his eyes. "I was hoping Rachel would be a good influence on those kids."

Jordan laughs. "As if. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, bud." Taylor waves. "Put sunscreen on your lily white skin."

Jordan does, in fact, put sunscreen on, though he has to employ Annie to help him get the spots on his back he can't reach. Taylor, in contrast, is wearing the lowest SPF sunscreen there is and is apparently planning on getting tan, since he's wearing swimshorts that are smaller than most and ride low on his hips. Jordan notices a number of the moms they pass sitting up to watch him, lowering their sunglasses to take in Taylor's already tan, muscled physique and his frankly absurd ass. Jordan still has something of a hockey butt, but he no longer has to buy custom fit pants, and looking at Taylor now he can't say he regrets that. 

The kids pick them a spot at the edge of the giant pool, and Sam and Rachel quickly claim two of the chairs, leaving Taylor and Jordan with one. Jordan rolls his eyes and reclines the seat so it's far back and he can scoot up it, leaving Taylor some room to sprawl over Jordan's legs and the rest of the chair. 

"This is going to get uncomfortable very quickly," Taylor observes, though he doesn't hesitate to sit in the vee of Jordan's legs. He tilts his face up towards the sunlight filtering in through the glass ceiling. "Nice day."

"Yeah," Jordan says, already sleepy from the heat and the smell of the chlorinated water. "I'm gonna nap."

"You lazy ass," Taylor says fondly, patting his calf, and Jordan kicks him before closing his eyes. 

He dozes off and on for an hour or so, waking up occasionally to see Taylor talking to Sam or another parent passing by. He rouses fully when Taylor gets to his feet and stretches up, back muscles working elegantly beneath his smooth skin, and then he takes a few quick steps forward before plunging into the water. 

Jordan pushes himself up on his elbows and watches as Taylor swims towards Annie and Bran, who are paddling around with Sam's kids. Sam hits him in the shoulder and then pinches him when he doesn't turn around right away. 

"What?" Jordan demands, glaring at him. 

"So how's it going?" Sam asks. "You and Hallsy seem to be friends again."

"Yeah," says Jordan. "It's good. The kids like having him around more. And he's my best friend."

Sam narrows his eyes. "Yeah."

Jordan groans and says, "If you're going to be weird, can I go back to sleep?"

"Sure," Sam says. "It's just – I don't know, Ebs, I know Hallsy has gone off and dated other people, but –"

"Dad!" shrieks Annie, loud enough to make Jordan jump. "Dad, come in the water!"

"Yeah, Ebby!" Taylor calls, grinning, and Jordan shook his head at them. "Don't make me drag you in!"

"Fine," Jordan yells, and he hurries away from Sam's questioning eyes. He just wants to enjoy Taylor's friendship; he doesn't think that's such a bad thing. 

He dunks Taylor's head in the water once he gets out to them, laughing when Taylor emerges sputtering and red-faced. Taylor shoves him and splashes him full in the face, and then Sam's oldest, John, joins in and the next thing Jordan knows they're engaged in a full-fledged splash fight in the middle of a crowded pool.

Jordan pleads mercy after the second time he nearly swallows a mouthful of water and paddles back to let the kids have at it. Taylor joins him after a moment, nudging their bare shoulders together and saying, "God, do you remember having that much energy?"

"No," Jordan says. 

"You did," Taylor says. "Remember when we first met?"

Jordan laughs and shakes his head. "You remember that better than I do."

"You had a hell of a lot of energy then," Taylor continues. "And we were about their age."

"Okay, maybe." Jordan bumps Taylor back. "I still can't believe you remember that, you freak."

"It was memorable," Taylor says. " _I_ can't believe you still have that stupid gap in your teeth."

"You love it," Jordan says comfortably. 

Taylor moves away from him and says, "Yeah."

Jordan watches as Taylor dives back into the water, vanishing beneath the surface with barely a ripple in his wake. Bran splashes Jordan and says, " _Dad_ ," and Jordan takes the hint and moves away from them so the kids can have their own time. 

Taylor is quiet the whole way back to the house, looking out the window while the kids doze. Jordan doesn't want to break the peaceful silence, so he leaves it be and doesn't turn on the radio. Once they arrive, Jordan herds the twins inside and sends them to nap on the couch, their chlorine scented hair undoubtedly dampening the cushions, and turns to Taylor. 

"Thanks for coming," he says. "And congratulations on the contract. Couldn't sign anywhere closer?"

Taylor doesn't answer, just looks at Jordan with a strange, distant expression. Jordan shifts uncomfortably. "Hallsy?"

"I can't do this, Ebby," Taylor says. "You keep – I don't even know if you know you're doing it, but you're doing it and you're driving me _crazy_."

"What are you talking about?" Jordan asks. "What can't you do?"

"I thought I could be friends with you," Taylor says. "It's been ten fucking years, I should be over you by now."

"Taylor," Jordan starts, but Taylor holds up his hand. 

"Look, you're my best friend," Taylor says. "But I've been trying to get over you ever since Jessica made me realize how completely gone I was for you. Do you know how many potential relationships I fucked up because I couldn't stop thinking about you? I'd finally stopped and then you called me." He puts his hand on the doorknob, poised to leave. "Ebby, I think it's best if we cut back a little."

Jordan's stomach drops. All he can think, all he can _say_ is, "No." The word rasps out, harsh, and he clears his throat before saying again, "No."

Taylor's eyes narrow. "What?"

"Taylor, I – you can't."

"Don't just cling to me because you miss your wife," growls Taylor, straightening up. "I'm not going to be some fucking substitute."

"You're not, you're – different, it's different," Jordan insists. "I'm not asking you to be, Hallsy."

Taylor shakes his head. "Ebby, if I stick around anymore, I'm going to kiss you or go crazy, do you get that?"

Jordan shivers, strangely anticipatory, and lifts his chin. Hallsy's gaze drops to his mouth for a minute before wrenching up. "I don't want you to leave."

Taylor swears under his breath and grabs Jordan by the front of his shirt, hauling him in close. Jordan sucks in a startled noise and stares up at Taylor, hands reaching up to rest on his elbows. "Ebby, I swear," Taylor starts. He shakes his head, apparently at a loss for words, and kisses Jordan. 

Jordan kisses back almost immediately, startled by how familiar it is, Taylor's lips against his, Taylor's tongue in his mouth, Taylor's body pushing him up against the wall. He wraps his arms around Taylor's neck and pushes up – his eyes are closed, he realizes, and he opens them so he can stare, cross-eyed at Taylor's golden eyelashes, see the small imperfections in his skin close up – and Taylor gets his hands on Jordan's ass and _oh_. 

Jordan moans – god, Taylor's hands are strong and _big_ – and Taylor shushes him before kissing him again, a little slower this time, one of his hands creeping down to lift Jordan's thigh. Jordan feels faintly ridiculous, but he has to admit that having Taylor's hip pressed against him is doing a lot for his need for more friction, more Taylor. 

"Can you be quiet?" Taylor asks, kissing Jordan's jaw. 

"I have two kids," Jordan says in answer. He turns to nuzzle the side of Taylor's neck. "But we should probably go upstairs if –"

Taylor doesn't wait for him to finish, just drags him towards the stairs. Jordan hooks his fingers into the back of Taylor's jeans and wonders how he could have missed the attraction growing between them. He hasn't fantasized about Taylor before, but he is now, is picturing that long, lean body spread out for him. He knows what Taylor's cock looks like from sharing spaces with him for years, but he's never seen it hard, and he desperately wants to, wants to get his hand around it and see if Taylor makes those same choked off noises he used to when he was trying to be quiet on road trips. 

Jordan takes off his shirt when they get into the bedroom and is momentarily embarrassed by the relative softness of his body, the paleness of his skin, but Taylor's mouth opens hungrily when he sees him and he forget his self-consciousness in the need to make Taylor follow suit. Jordan maps Taylor's chest with his hands, dragging his fingers over his nipples, then again when Taylor groans. "Ebby."

Jordan looks up and smiles. Taylor is looking at him with a slight edge of anxiety, lower lip tugged in between his teeth. "Hey," Jordan says, and he kisses Taylor, nudging his tongue inside as he pulls his hands free and gets them inside Taylor's pants. 

They collapse back onto the bed, Jordan astride Taylor's thighs, and he unzips Taylor's jeans, tugs the briefs down to see the hard line of Taylor's dick. Jordan wraps his fingers around it appraisingly – thicker than him, yes, uncut too, like him – and gently pulls back the foreskin to expose the flushed head. 

" _Jordan_ ," Taylor chokes out. 

Jordan wants to try getting his mouth around it sometime, but it's probably best they go quickly before either of the kids want something. He makes quick work of his own jeans and is gratified by Taylor's quick intake of breath. It's only when Taylor gently, cautiously drags his fingers down the curve of Jordan's hip, around his ass, that it occurs to Jordan that Taylor has probably thought about this before. He wants Taylor to know this is real; that this is happening. He lowers himself to lie mostly on Taylor's chest, ignoring the exaggerated _oof_ Taylor lets out, and scrapes his teeth along Taylor's collar before sucking at the jut of bone at the hollow of Taylor's throat. 

Taylor's hand lands in his hair, gripping on to the strands, and urges him up with a gentle tug. Jordan goes, and then is startled when Taylor flips them over in a sudden surge of energy. It's nothing like sex with Catie, who is the last person Jordan had sex with and the only one he'd known for more than ten years. Catie was passionate, for sure, and had left marks on Jordan that had prompted teasing, and she was pushy – pushier than Taylor is being, really. Taylor is more – desperate, that's what Jordan's sensing in the way Taylor touches him, like he's trying to reassure himself that Jordan is really there. 

Jordan gets his hand back around Taylor's dick as they kiss, sloppy and open-mouthed. It takes a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar angle, but it's not too different from getting himself off. Taylor likes it a little faster, a little harder than Jordan does, and when Jordan gently runs his thumbnail along the underside, Taylor nearly bites his tongue off. 

"Fuck, Ebby," he says, garbled, and he comes, unexpectedly soon, and Jordan jerks back in surprise, watching in fascination as Taylor pulses over his hand, the come dripping over his knuckles and down his wrist. Jordan twists his hand, curiously, and Taylor squeezes his eyes shut, groaning even as he pushes down into it. "Ebby, you have to stop."

"I'd rather not," Jordan says, laughing, and he keeps his hand on Taylor even as he softens. Taylor finally pushes his hand away and kisses Jordan once, fiercely, before moving down. 

"What –" Jordan starts. Taylor licks the head of his cock and Jordan stops asking questions. 

It's clear Taylor has done this before, done this often, and Jordan can imagine it, Taylor on his knees in an anonymous bar bathroom with someone's dick down his throat, learning through trial and error what made people moan, what made them pull angrily at his hair. And he learned, Jordan thinks, because he knew he was in love with me, and it's such a stupid thing to think, because it's more than that, obviously, but he's suddenly overwhelmed by how much he adores Taylor, how maybe he loves him too. He cups Taylor's jaw in his hand, rubbing his thumb over Taylor's lower lip, and _wants_ this. If he can have this in addition to Taylor's company, fuck, he really wants it. He wants to wake up with Taylor and know that Taylor isn't leaving, that he'll be there for the kids and he'll complain about Jordan's cooking and kiss him goodnight. 

Fuck, Jordan wants that. 

Taylor looks up, meets Jordan's eyes, and that's it, Jordan is done. He squeezes Taylor's shoulder, warning him off, and Taylor pulls back, finishing Jordan off with his hand. Jordan collapses back against the pillows as Taylor mouths at his thigh, soft and wet, and says, "Come here."

"Mm," Taylor says into Jordan's skin, mouth buzzing against the still-sensitive skin. "No."

"Please?" 

"Well." Taylor scoots up and looks at Jordan. "We can't just lie around."

"Why not?"

"I'm pretty sure your kids are going to wonder where we are at some point." Taylor straightens up and looks around. "I should go." He starts getting out of bed and picking up his clothes, shimmying into his underwear and dragging his shirt back on.

Jordan sits up too. "What? Where are you going?"

"This was stupid," Taylor says, shaking his head. "Fuck, this was fucking stupid. I'm going to go." 

"Taylor –"

"I'm not – I can't be your rebound, okay?" Taylor looks at Jordan and laughs, bitter. "The first fucking time you look at me and it has to be now, eh?"

"Hallsy –"

"Don't call me," Taylor says. "It's for the best, Ebby." He finishes pulling up his jeans and leans over to touch Jordan's cheek, like he can't help himself. "Fuck."

Jordan catches his hand. "Don't, Taylor. I want this."

Taylor's mouth twists down and he says, "God, you fall in love too easy," and he pulls his hand away before leaving the room. Jordan is left with sheets that smell of Taylor and the phantom touch of his fingers on his skin, and no idea of how to change Taylor's mind. 

 

For the first week or so, he mopes. 

Bran and Annie are careful around him, sensing his mood. Bran tentatively asks if he's missing Mom – and he is, more in the sense that he misses her quiet counsel than actually wishing they were together again – and Annie makes an effort to rein in her exuberance. The house is unnaturally quiet for days, and right up until they leave for Catie's at the end of Jordan's two weeks, they're overly polite and cautious. Only one attempt is made to ask if they'd be seeing Uncle Taylor again, and Jordan's tense, clipped, "No," discouraged all other questions.

As soon as he packed the kids into Catie's car, avoiding her curious gaze, he calls up Sam and says, "I need you to get me drunk."

"Jordan?" Rachel says, and she sounds like she's laughing. "Let me get Sam for you."

"Oh," Jordan says. "Sorry."

"No problem, hang on." There's a muffled thumping noise and then Rachel yells, "Honey, Jordan's on the phone! He wants you to ply him with liquor!"

"Really? After all these years?" Sam calls back, distant but still audible. Jordan groans and buries his head in his hands. "Ebs," Sam says, now apparently holding the phone, "what have you done?"

"Something stupid." There's a very sarcastic silence on the other end and Jordan just _knows_ Sam is raising his eyebrows, saying, _well, yes, of course you did, but what?_ "With Taylor."

"Oh," Sam says, and he's abruptly serious, voice low and devoid of any traces of laughter. "Your place or a bar?"

"My place is probably better," Jordan says, who can't imagine spilling his guts in a crowded bar where people might hear. "Tonight?"

"I'll be there in twenty," Sam promises. 

By the time Sam arrives, Jordan has already made and drunk a vodka tonic and is working on a second, feeling that the occasion called for more than beer. Sam helps himself to beer and sits down next to Jordan on the couch before saying, "Tell me."

Jordan does, the words spilling out of him like Sam had pulled a string and broken the dam. "I slept with Taylor," he says. Sam inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything, just waits for him to continue. The whole story spills out, how Jordan had realized, subconsciously, that Taylor was handsome, how he hadn't been able to resist touching, how terrified he'd been when Taylor had said he would have to leave. He finishes, staring at the dwindling contents of his drink, with, "I think I love him." He pauses and corrects, "I think I'm _in_ love with him."

Sam stares at him, narrow-eyed, for a heavy moment. He tilts his head back, beer bottle to his lips, and drinks about half of it in one go. Then he puts it down on the coffee table, leans over, and smacks Jordan across the back of the head so hard that Jordan chokes on his drink and starts coughing. 

"Are you fucking stupid?" Sam demands. "You must be fucking stupid if you did that. You just – you fucked him and _didn't_ – look, Jordan, you were off being married so you weren't around to deal with Taylor, but you messed him up. You messed him up _good_ and part of it was his own fault, but there's no way that sex with you is going to help unless you're ready to work on your relationship."

"Work on it?" Jordan demands. "We've been friends for years –"

"Friends where you were oblivious to him being totally fucking in love with you and he was in deep denial about it," Sam points out. "And god, Jordan, you've been married, you know that relationships are different than friendship. You have kids, he has his career – if you really want to be with him, that's going to be part of it. It's not just adding sex."

"We've lived together," Jordan tries to protest, but Sam is shaking his head before he's even finished. 

"You lived together when you were twenty. Neither of you are the same person anymore." Sam picks his beer back up and settles back. "Look at it from his point of view, Jordan. You drop back in his life after, what, four years since he was traded? You call him, completely out of the blue, to tell him you're getting divorced and then you act like nothing has changed since you were in your twenties. When Taylor was so in love with you he spent the night before your wedding coming up with ways to ruin it and told me all of them in excruciating detail."

"You think he thinks I'm rebounding," says Jordan. "I'm _not_ , Catie and I –"

"I know, and hush, I'm trying to make a point." Sam squints at the ceiling for a moment. "He can't believe you, Jordan, not when you don't acknowledge that things are different now. He's not twenty-four anymore."

Jordan sighs and shakes his drink to have something to do. He's terrified, has been terrified, of bringing up anything from their years apart to Taylor. He had assumed, on some level, that Taylor's life had been mostly hockey, as it always had been when they were younger, but he realizes now that of course Taylor had experiences that Jordan knew nothing of, just as Taylor knew very little about what it was like to be a parent to two bright, active kids. He had ignored that and pretended that Taylor was the same, except that he wasn't. He knows that. 

"Do you believe me?" he asks Sam. "When I say I'm in love with him?"

Sam hesitates, which is all Jordan needs to see. He groans and stands, only to be pulled back by a hand on his sweater. "You called me for help," Sam says, "so you're going to listen. I believe you love Taylor, more than just close friends, okay, John and I were never as weird as you guys are. But are you sure you aren't just...reacting to what you know about him now?"

"He isn't in love with me now," Jordan says. "He told me. If he was in love with me ten years ago, that doesn't matter now. I'm not – projecting his feelings onto me."

"Oh Ebs," Sam says, sad, "of course Taylor is in love with you. He always will be."

Jordan has no answer for that.

 

He and Sam get wonderfully, spectacularly drunk, wisely dropping the subject of Taylor until they've had time to regroup. Sam seems to be watching Jordan closely, particularly when Jordan plays with his phone, toying with the idea of calling or texting Taylor. He doesn't dare, not while Sam is looking, and takes advantage of the next time Sam gets up to pee to text to Taylor, _I'm sorry_.

He regrets it after hitting send, knowing the apology could be taken any number of ways, but he felt he had to say it so Taylor is aware that Jordan is thinking about him, that he realizes why Taylor didn't – couldn't – believe him when he said he wanted him too. He wants to say _I'm sorry I didn't make us talk about it after you kissed me_ or _I'm sorry that I was a jerk and never really asked you about your life_ or even _I'm sorry I didn't say I love you sooner_. He aches at the thought that he could have, once again, been the cause of sadness in Taylor. He wants to make Taylor smile at him again. 

He hides his phone when Sam returns to the room, trying to look innocent. Sam still eyes him suspiciously before sitting back down and picking up the thread of what his daughter has been doing with ballet recently. Jordan does his best to pay attention, but can't help glancing every few minutes towards his phone, which remains stubbornly silent and still. 

The two of them pass out before Jordan gets a response, and when Sam leaves the next morning, bleary-eyed and cranky, Jordan still has no messages. He doesn't want to push Taylor, but he's anxious and jumpy when he goes to meet with the rest of the Oil Kings' management team and discuss the upcoming season. No one seems to notice, luckily, and when his phone finally does buzz, he pretends he needs to go to the bathroom so he can look at it.

 _Okay_ , is all Taylor has said. 

Jordan swears and resists the urge to kick the wall. He doesn't want to push – isn't that how this whole mess had spiraled out of control? – but every day he spends without talking to Taylor he's reminded of how much he liked having Taylor back in his life and how badly he'd fucked that up. God, he'd fucked it up. 

On Sam's advice, Jordan spends some time imagining how a relationship between the two of them could work. In his head, it isn't all that different from when they lived each other, only they have Bran and Annie to hang out with instead of playing video games all day, and of course they have sex with each other instead of whatever girlfriends. He can picture it perfectly, Taylor trying to help Bran with his homework while Jordan and Annie practice her shot out in the yard, then all of them crowding around the kitchen table – it seems more like Taylor than the dining room, which is rather formal – to eat Taylor's famous KD. He hopes Taylor has gotten better at using the dishwasher since they lived together. Taylor would hate theirs, which is finicky and old, and Jordan can just hear Taylor bitching about it when he tries to get it to close. 

He doesn't know what Taylor might want to do when he retires, but he likes to think of Taylor getting a job with a midget team or maybe with the Oilers so he would stay close to Edmonton most of the time. It's kind of a ridiculous fantasy, particularly the few times he thinks of what it would be like to actually work with Taylor, because Taylor isn't really an office guy, but he wants to carpool with him and argue over whose music sucks more, the way they always used to. 

He takes the twins shopping for school supplies and can imagine Taylor encouraging Bran to buy all the fancy pens that Taylor and Bran love and cost approximately ten times as much as the ordinary ballpoints Annie uses. At parent-teacher conferences, they'd go together and meet Catie there, he supposes, and listen to Bran's music teacher talk about how far he's come along, how good he is now that he's a little less shy about playing. At night, they'd hush each other through their giggles as they made love, Taylor's hands sure on his hips and his lips on Jordan's cheek. 

It isn't just the companionship Jordan misses, he knows that; he misses Taylor specifically, wants to hear his snide, cranky comments about the other parents and chirps about the clothes Jordan wears on scouting trips. He wants to come home to Taylor and the kids curled up watching movies on the couch, Taylor scowling because he thinks all movies now are lame but letting Bran whisper along with the lines. He wants to ice Taylor's sore ankles and wrists and laugh at him when he whines and argue with him when he tries to start skating before he's ready. He wants all of it, the good and the bad, just as long as he gets to keep Taylor.

He works up the courage to text Taylor again when the kids return for their last two-week sojourn before the beginning of the school year. He's waiting in the car for them to grab whatever they need from Catie's house, and he overcomes his anxiety just long enough to send, _I'd like to talk to you again but if you don't want to it's ok_

Jordan is conscious of Sam's reminder that things are different with children, and he knows that it's more than if he'd be happy with Taylor, it's if they would be happy with him too. It feels premature to ask them about it, before Taylor has even said he's willing to talk to Jordan again, but he's given an unexpected opening when Catie comes to the car and tells him cautiously, watching his face, that she had told the kids she was seeing a man she had met through work, a librarian at the public library. She didn't, she explains, want him to find out from them. 

He looks down at his phone, still lit with the message exchange between him and Taylor, and says, "I might have someone, too."

She tilts her head, then looks at his phone too. "Taylor?" She sounds surprised. "I didn't think – I knew he, but you –?"

Jordan finds he's smiling. "You remember," he asks her, "how, when things were good, it was like we were best friends? Like we had known each other forever and would always know everything about each other?"

Catie's expression softens. "Yes."

"That's what it feels like with him," he says. "I feel like –" He hesitates. 

"Like the world is new," she says, and they look at each other, for a moment united again by spark of attraction and similarity that had formed the basis of their relationship until, like the branches of a tree, they had diverged. 

"I'm happy for you," he says, entirely sincere. 

"Good luck," she tells him. She leans through the open window to kiss his cheek as the kids come down the front walk. She smells like jasmine, the same perfume she's used since he met her, and Jordan breathes in the familiar scent before drawing back and unlocking the doors. 

"What were you and Mom talking about?" Annie asks, banging her way into the backseat. Bran sits primly behind Jordan, hands in his lap, and Jordan is suddenly, overwhelmingly fond of them, each of them part Catie and part him and still entirely unique. 

"We were talking about dating," he says, starting the car. "Your mom says she's dating someone."

"He's pretty cute," Annie says, "for an old man," and Jordan laughs so hard he has to drop his head on the steering wheel. 

"Well," he says when he regains his breath, "what would you say if I started dating too?"

"Who do you even know?" Annie asks, thoughtlessly outspoken as usual. "Did you meet someone, like, at our school? Like a teacher? Eww," she adds.

"No," Jordan says. "I've known him for a long time."

There's a moment of silence, then Bran ventures hesitantly, "Do you mean Uncle Taylor?"

"Don't be stupid," Annie says. "Do you?"

"I do," Jordan says. "It's – complicated. But if I were to start dating him, would you be okay with that?"

"I like Uncle Taylor," says Bran. 

"Yeah," Annie says. 

"Okay," Jordan says when nothing else seems forthcoming. "Okay, good to know."

"Just don't be all gross and kissy," says Annie. "I hate when grown-ups do that."

Jordan narrows his eyes at her in the rear view mirror. "Not when kids do it?"

Bran giggles and Annie goes red, and that's clearly something Jordan will have to investigate later, when he gets Annie on her own and won't be embarrassed to talk about her crushes in front of her brother. For now, he's content to listen to Bran tease Annie gently, saying, "Yeah, what about _kissing_ , Annie," and Jordan can just imagine what Taylor would say if he were here, how he'd turn around and say, "Annie Eberle, what have you been doing?" and he'd look at Jordan with that smile of his, the one that makes Jordan feel shivery and warm at the same time.

He hopes Taylor texts him back. 

 

There's no reply for four days, during which Jordan buries himself in video and takes notes on a couple of the new players for the Oil Kings. He takes the twins to dinner and ice cream and they go to the pool for a day with some of their friends from school. But it's like being trapped in a dream, where everything seems slightly out of focus while he waits for his phone to buzz. 

When the call does finally come, he is, of course, not expecting it, is in the middle of sucking on his finger after scalding it on the coffee maker, and answers the phone with a barked, "What?"

"Ebby?" Taylor asks, voice sounding crackly, not quite real over the speaker. 

Jordan snatches his phone up and sticks his hand under the faucet. "Taylor."

"Hey."

"Hey." Jordan realizes he's smiling and tries to force himself to stop. "I – hi."

"I had an interesting conversation with Bran," says Taylor, and Jordan stops smiling abruptly. "You're thinking of dating me, eh?"

He sounds – _amused_ , Jordan realizes. "I've been thinking about it a lot," he confesses. "Every day."

"I thought about it every day for probably three years," Taylor says. "You've got a lot of catching up to do."

"I know," Jordan says in a rush. "I know and I want to catch up, Taylor, I really do."

Taylor is quiet for a moment. "You've really been thinking about it?"

"I told my _kids_ about it, Taylor." Jordan laughs, half-hysterical, and clutches the phone closer to his face. "I don't deserve it, not at all, but next time you're in town – do you want to go on a date? With me?"

"I expect the full Jordan Eberle treatment," Taylor warns. "Dinner and a movie, isn't that your standard?"

"Yeah, it is," Jordan says, smiling. "And ice cream after."

"You did that on your dates?"

"No. Only with you." 

"Oh." Taylor pauses. "You know this could fail horribly, Ebs."

"Of course it could," Jordan says. "But it won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know us, man," Jordan says. 

"God," Taylor says, "why are you like this?" but he sounds so fond that Jordan's heart squeezes. 

"I'm sorry," Jordan says. "For everything I've done. I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," Taylor says. "That really just made it harder."

"I'll make it up to you," Jordan promises. "Anyway you want."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Taylor says. Then, "We'll be in Edmonton on the 25th of October."

"Perfect," Jordan says. "Can I call you before that?"

"Yes," Taylor says, and after they say their goodbyes, Jordan drops his phone on the edge of his sink and buries his face in his hands, choked and frightened and so, so happy. 

They talk a few times after that, never for very long and never discussing their upcoming date. Jordan makes a conscious effort to ask Taylor more about his life in St. Louis and what things have been like for him since he was traded from Edmonton. Taylor isn't any more talkative than he had been at twenty-two, but he's learned how to tell stories, at least. 

"—and that was when Frank told her he could speak English," he finishes, laughing. Jordan, lying on his side in bed, smiles. "She apologized, like, a hundred times."

"I bet." Jordan runs his finger over the edge of his night table. "Do you like it down there?"

"It's okay," Taylor says. "It's weird, though. Remember when we were in Oklahoma for Christmas and it was super weird?"

" _You_ thought it was weird," Jordan corrects.

"Look, it isn't Christmas without snow," says Taylor. "It was weird, you know? I was used to Edmonton and it being fucking cold all the time. And I missed you guys."

"I'm sorry I didn't –"

"Stop apologizing for everything, Ebs," Taylor interrupts. "I appreciate it, but dude, I get it. You're real sorry."

Jordan snorts. "Thank you for making me sound less sincere."

"It's in the past now, okay?" Taylor says. "This is different now."

Jordan swallows. "Yeah. Two weeks."

"Two weeks," Taylor agrees, and they stay on the phone to listen to each other breathe for a long time. 

 

The twins insist on seeing Taylor before the date, even though they're with Catie that week. 

"We have to approve," Annie says bossily, hands on her hips, while Catie doubles over with laughter behind her. Jordan sighs and agrees to let them come over for that afternoon. It means, of course, that they're around to see his horrible, embarrassing meltdown over which shirt to wear until Bran sighs and points at one. 

"You always wear that one when we go out somewhere nice," he says, so Jordan takes it and pulls it on with shaking fingers. 

He hasn't been this nervous in years. It's just a date, but it's a date that Taylor has waited ten years for, a date that already has so much weight attached to it that it seems entirely possible it could all collapse simply because he wore the wrong shirt. It's a date with the hope of so much more attached to it, different from other first dates where they're just trying to get to know each other, because he and Taylor already know each other and he has already foolishly formed an image of what their life together could, would be like. 

This, he realizes as he shrugs on his suit jacket, is probably a terrible idea. 

He goes downstairs and waits at the door, trying not to be obvious about it, but Bran and Annie are standing opposite him and watching out the windows too, Annie's chin hooked over her brother's shoulder. When the headlights of a taxi briefly illuminate the front hall, they all jump, startled, and then laugh, breathless giggles. 

"He's here," Annie says, hugging her brother from behind. Jordan rubs his hands on his pants and steps forward to open the door as the dark figure of Taylor comes up the walk, familiar stride giving him away. 

Taylor looks startled when the door swings open, his hand already half-lifted to ring the bell, but he smiles and says, "Hey, Ebby."

Jordan forgets his anxiety, too fixated on the shape of Taylor's smile. "Taylor," he breathes, and forgetting his promise to Annie, leans forward and kisses him. 

Taylor kisses back after a moment of stilled surprise, hand lifting to cup Jordan's cheek. It's sweet, gentle, with the barest touch of tongue, and Jordan wants to bury himself in this moment, full of potential as it is. 

Taylor is the one to ease back, his cheeks pink and smiling so wide his eyes are scrunched up. Annie is making gagging noises behind Jordan. When he turns to look, Bran has turned to cover her mouth with his hand. 

"We're dropping you back off at your mom's," he tells them. "Happy you've gotten to see Taylor?"

"Are you gonna be nice to Dad?" Bran asks over his shoulder. "He was really sad after we saw you in July."

"I'm going to be extremely nice to Jordan," Taylor says, a hint of suggestion in his voice. Jordan reaches out to smack him without looking. "Ow!"

"Anything else you want to ask him?" Jordan asks pointedly. 

"If you and Dad break up," Bran asks, and Annie pries his hand off her mouth to look worriedly at them, "will you still come around to see us?"

"Of course," Taylor says softly. He comes into the hall and holds out his arms to them. Jordan watches them go, burying their faces in his ribs. "You know I love you guys."

Jordan's chest constricts, and he leans in towards Taylor too, putting an arm around his shoulders and looking down. Taylor looks at Jordan, smile seeming disbelieving, and Jordan suddenly knows, knows with the same surety he has been putting on as front for weeks, that this will work. Taylor fits in with them. He belongs, and Jordan loves him so much that he'll spend the rest of his life trying to convince Taylor of that if he needs to. 

"Okay, guys," he says when he trusts himself to speak. "We should get going, we have reservations."

The twins pull back and smile, embarrassed, and Taylor ruffles Annie's hair despite her squawk, and they walk out to Jordan's car together, the twins settling in the back, Taylor sliding into place beside Jordan. They drop the twins off at Catie's house, bidding them goodbye, and as soon as they disappear inside the house, Catie waving at them from the door, Jordan turns to look at Taylor. 

"Well," he says. 

Taylor laughs, high, a little panicked, and says, "Yeah." They stare at each other, silent, and then Taylor puts his hand over Jordan's and says, "Let's just do this."

"Yeah," Jordan agrees. "It's no big deal."

Taylor snorts, and Jordan starts laughing, because it's so manifestly, obviously untrue. The tension between them eases. Jordan starts the car again and drives one-handed so Taylor doesn't have to stop touching him. 

"We can do this," Taylor says once they've arrived at the restaurant and are waiting for the valet. "Right?"

Jordan takes Taylor's hand in his and says, "Of course," and when the valet takes their car, he is sure to reach for Taylor's hand again, comforting, and Taylor flashes him that warm smile, the one that makes Jordan shiver, before they go inside.


End file.
